Green Blood
by TheFreshApple
Summary: Very post movie. That's all I can say without giving too much up. :D


**A/N:** See if you can keep up:D

**Disclaimer:** What's mine is mine, what's theirs is theirs… simple as that.

000

The sounds of rap music followed Logan and me all the way down Killeen Road. His head was bobbing to the beat and he merely snickered when I rolled my eyes and sighed loudly. "You can't tell me you don't appreciate a bit of good dance music," he said, grabbing my hand. I smiled and shook my head. "Boyo, ye've got a lot ta learn. That shit is crap. Plain and simple."

Logan's blue eyes sparkled in the fading twilight. "Have I ever told you how much I love your accent? Really, it's quite charming."

I rolled my eyes again. Logan Hawthorne hailed from London, way across the way in England. He didn't understand that here in my little village, we referred to any type of rap as "Protestant piss". Not that we were discriminatory against rap. It was every bit of music that didn't agree with our green blood that got called such names. My beliefs, along with my accent, had been nurtured and loved in this small town until I had finally had enough and ventured out into the world. Not that I went far. England was where I ended up and that's where I met Logan. I was standing on a street corner, enjoying the summer rain, when a jacket had covered my head and those beautiful blue eyes peered out at me from behind matted blonde locks. "Miss, are you alright?" He had yelled in my face, and at that moment I knew he was the guy for me. Only a man with those lungs could stand against my family.

I squeezed his hand as we turned onto "St. Patty's Avenue", the road famous for being lined with pubs and such. "I'm glad ye think so. Yer about ta meet the source of all this Irish charm." My insides constricted with fear. It had been two years since I had left home in a flurry of curses and tears. Sixteen years old and nowhere to go, that's what my mother called me. A fucking fool were my da's words. In any case, I was too young to know what I was doing and now I was back to make amends. If I could.

As if he could read my thoughts, which I often believed he could, Logan kissed my cheek and rested his chin on the top of my head. "It will all be fine. Quit working yourself to a bloody frenzy and show me which bar is your uncle's."

"Great-uncle's," I corrected him, pointing. "The Anvil. There." My tongue felt too big for my mouth as we wound our way through the sudden crowd. He returned my previous squeeze and pushed through the heavy wooden doors to smoke filled room within.

_A small hand reached up to grasp the man's glass of Guinness, nearly toppling it. "Oi, there, what're ye doin'?" he asked, amused by his young daughter's determination to get at the glass. _

"_Gettin' a drink, Da." The little girl's soft lisping reply reached him through the shouts and rowdiness of the bar and he smiled, pulling her into his lap. "And why would ye be wantin' my beer, hmm?" _

"_Ma does it," she said, her small red mouth pouting. He laughed full out then, raising one eyebrow in gentle amusement. "Aye, that she does." He placed into her small hands a bottle filled with milk, kissing her brown hair affectionately. "Here, This is the stuff for ye." _

_She popped the rubber nipple into her mouth quickly, sucking to get the treasure within. He watched her for a moment before waving over his wife. She nodded and finished with a customer, wiping her hands on her apron before slipping over to them. "Aye?" _

"_We've got an early drinker," he whispered into her ear, kissing her neck before looking down at the young girl on his lap. His wife raised her eyebrows in surprise, biting her lip to hide her smile. Wide blue eyes, reminiscent of her father's, stared up at her out of the baby's face. The nipple popped out of the small mouth and the child grinned. "Aye, Ma. I firsty." _

"_Hmm. Well, yer da seems ta have ye covered," the mother replied, a loving smile on her lips as she witnessed her husband and daughter's interaction. "I have ta be gettin' back ta work. Will ye bring her home?" she asked him, green eyes locked onto his. _

_He nodded. "Aye, and then I'll be back for ye. Ma and Da want ta watch her tonight." _

_The child shrieked in delight, understanding she was getting the privilege of grandparents. Her parents laughed and she was whisked into the air by her father's strong arms. She was pressed between two bodies as her parents kissed deeply and then she found herself being carried through the warm bar, farewells following her into the night. A familiar man with green eyes blew a raspberry against her cheek and she giggled. There was so much love, even a child could understand it. _

My eyes filled with tears at the sudden memory. It had been a while since I had remembered my four-year-old self, and yet it seemed like just yesterday. The hubbub of the bar was as vivacious as ever and Logan shifted uncomfortably next to me. "There's so many of them…Are you all related?" he asked me and I laughed. "Nah. I'll show ye who be kin. C'mon." Pulling him through the tables seemed a bit brutal, but it got us from point a to point b fast enough. At the bar, an old man with gray hairs coming out of his ears was yelling something in Gaelic at a woman who was wide around the middle and lacking in height. Despite their obvious agitation, I felt a rush of affection for them both.

"Grams!" I struggled to get my voice above the din, but I am my father's daughter. The old lady turned and looked at me once before her face broke into a smile of joy. "_Mo chroí_!" she shouted back, her arms held wide for an embrace. _My heart._

I rushed into her arms, smelling beer and cigarettes on her clothes. Even a head taller than her, she made me feel small. I pulled back, surprised at the small tears pricking at the corner of my eyes. I turned to the barkeep, smiling. "Hey, Uncle Sibeal. How's business?"

"_Póg mo thóin!_" The old man muttered back, a toothless grin on his wrinkled features. _Kiss my ass._

I threw back my head and laughed, translating for Logan. Grams noticed his confusion and she slapped him good-naturedly on the back. "We speak Gaelic around here, boyo. It's good for the soul."

Logan nodded, amused by the whole ordeal. "Yes, I've heard Molly speak it quite a bit. She likes to tell obstinate people '_Go hIfreann leat!_'. Quite amusing when they have no idea what she means."

Grams looked him up and down before leaning over to me and whispering, "He's not Irish."

I rolled my eyes and chuckled. "Very good, Grams."

She shook her head and passed him her glass of Guinness. "Drink up, boy. We've got ta be workin' on yer accent. It's terrible! How do ye expect ta tell people ta go ta hell if ye can't pronounce it right?"

He looked at me, scandalized. "That's what you're saying?"

I merely shrugged and took a swig of his beer. "Aye."

The bar erupted into laughter, Logan included. I kissed his cheek and decided it was time for formal introductions. "Grams, this is Logan Hawthorne. Logan, this is me grandmother-"

"Holy fuck and saints preserve us! It's Molly!" A raspy voice from behind me made me spin and I threw open my arms in time to catch the speaker in an enthusiastic embrace. He picked me up and spun me, just like when I was a child. The pub whirled about in a flash of colors and when my feet hit the ground, I had to clutch his shoulder in effort to stay upright. "Ye can't do that anymore," I scolded, looking into his still-youthful face happily. "I'm not a single woman."

The smile disappeared from his handsome features and he peeked around me to observe Logan. "This him, then?" he asked, venom thick where honey had been moment before. I stepped protectively between my boyfriend and my uncle, feeling like a mother watching out for her young from a dangerous predator. Which was accurate on some accounts. Logan had no idea how dangerous my family was.

The older man made a face at me and stepped smartly around me to shake Logan's hand. "Pleased to meet ye, boy. Can I buy ye a drink?"

"They seem ta like him." A gentle voice in my ear caught me off guard. Warm arms enveloped me into a motherly embrace and I turned to bury my face in her neck. "Ma," I whimpered, feeling tears well up in my eyes. She petted my hair and kissed my cheek. I could feel wetness on her skin and I knew she was crying too. I pulled back and she held me at arm's length, studying me with her sharp green eyes. "Ye look thin."

"Thanks," I said, grinning sheepishly. "I do what I can."

She shook her head at me, her face disapproving. "That's not what I meant, and ye know it." She smiled again and pulled me against her body. "Molly, my big girl. I missed ye."

Sniffling, I wiped my eyes. "Missed ye too, Ma. Where's Da?"

"Right here." Only his voice could be so coldly disappointed and at the same time hold so much untapped love. I could see him over my mother's shoulder, glaring at me with narrowed eyes. His arms were crossed and I flinched. This was the reunion I wasn't looking forward to. "Hello, Da."

"So ye come back here and fuckin' think ye can get yer way inta the family? Think again." His mouth was turned down with anger and I pulled free of the safety of my mother's arms. "Da, I came back ta apologize. I was wrong-"

"Fuck yes, ye were." He cut me off and I flinched again. I wasn't expecting him to be this harsh.

My uncle pushed past me with a brief pat on my shoulder and pulled my father around so that their backs were to us. I noticed the bar had gone deadly silent. Logan's arms around my waist brought my focus away from the arguing men and I noticed he and my mother smiling at each other. "What are ye two plottin'?"

Ma looked insulted. "I was just meetin' yer lovely friend here, since ye don't have the decency to introduce him yerself."

I motioned to my father and uncle, still whispering agitatedly. "Kinda busy, Ma." My hand connected with warm flesh and I gulped. Turning back to where I thought they had been, I was greeted by two tall men standing before me, each looking equally stern. My hand, still brushing my father's abdomen, jumped back as if it's own accord. "Sorry," I muttered automatically.

The two exchanged looks, before my uncle burst into hysterical giggles. "Alright, Murph, ye've had yer fun. Give the lass some slack, she's about ta cry."

"Acceptance has ta be earned, Connor. I don't think she's ready for that." Da looked down at me a moment longer before breaking into an enormous grin and pulling me into his arms. The pub erupted into cheers and I half-laughed, half-cried into his jacket. He picked me up and swung me like Connor had done, setting me down lightly and wrapping an arm around Ma's shoulders. "Would ye look at her, Cate? She looks just like ye did at her age."

My mother, Caitlin MacManus, rolled her eyes and scoffed. "Ye two are the worst. I heard them plotting in the corner before I came over," she told me, cuffing Murphy on the back of the head. He scowled playfully and wrestled her to the bar, calling for a drink. I stuck my tongue out at Connor, but he just laughed. "Ye should've seen yer face! Ye were scared out of yer fuckin' mind!" He roared with amusement and my father joined in.

"Yeah, yeah, thank ye. I love yer enthusiasm at me embarrassment. And me with a boy here!" I shook my head. "I hate ye all."

Murphy focused on Logan then, and I almost regretted my words. "Ah, yes. The boyfriend. Caitlin warned me there might be one of ye." He stuck out his hand for shaking. "Murphy MacManus, and this here's me brother, Connor." He jerked his head in my uncle's direction and I groaned as Logan's eyes grew wide. "You two are twins?"

The men looked at each other before laughing uproariously again. "She's filled ye in! Good." Da poured him a drink from the bottle on the counter. "Yer just lucky her grandfather isn't here. He was twice as bad as both of us put together."

"Where is Gramps?" I asked, flinging my arm around Grams' shoulders. She took a swig of her beer and wiped her mouth. "At home, in bed. He's not as young as he once was, lass."

"Neither are ye," I muttered loud enough for her to hear, and planted a sloppy kiss on her cheek. She grumbled and pushed me off.

A deep bass line filled the smoky room and I looked up in surprise. The beginning notes to the Dropkick Murphys' song Shipping Off To Boston followed quickly and I grinned evilly at Logan. "This, however, is not crap. This," I grabbed his arm, pulling him off his barstool and onto the floor by my parents, "is good, clean, Irish-Catholic fun." Kissing him soundly on the mouth, I broke into a quick two-step, one that I hadn't forgotten, even after five years of dormancy. Those Irish step lessons had paid off.

As my father took my hand and spun me around the cleared space, I got a good look at my family. Annie MacManus, the matriarch who had raised me when my parents were infrequently absent. Caitlin MacManus, my loving mother who had done everything in her power to make me feel whole, and Connor, my fun-loving uncle from whom I inherited my best prankster skills. Together, he and my father made up the gruesome duo, the Saints of South Boston, a past that I still hadn't told Logan about.

My eyes landed on my beautiful boy, delight filling my heart as he laughed with my uncle, watching me dance. He had been accepted into my family with open arms and in turn they understood that while I didn't love an Irishman, I was still a darling of the Emerald Isles. The smell of my homeland filled my nostrils and I smiled with joy.

I was home.


End file.
